Mayor Whitlock made lots of great points. If tiny Last Chance has issues with prejudice, is it any wonder that entire countries can’t get along?

“Was it hard growing up here?” Mom and I are folding laundry on the bed. I’m in charge of Opa’s handkerchiefs.

“Sometimes, yes.” She’s looking at a pair of mismatched socks. “Why do you ask?”

“Oma mentioned that it might not have been easy for you.”

Mom stops sorting laundry. “I didn’t think she ever noticed.”

“Are you kidding? Oma notices everything!”

Mom laughs. “I guess you’re right about that. I’ve always craved excitement. I wanted to live somewhere where I could reinvent myself—a place I could fit in. Here, my claim to fame was that I was the daughter of the Chinese restaurant owners. That’s not what I wanted to be known as.”

“What did you want to be known as?”

My mother pauses. “To be my own person, I guess. To make my own way and not just do what was expected of me.”

“What did Oma and Opa say about that?” Mom and I talk about so much stuff, but I never thought to ask about her childhood before.

“Nothing. They never said anything. Oh, sometimes Opa would launch into a story about how hard it was for his grandfather, but to me that was ancient history. And all Oma cared about was the Golden Palace.”

That’s not true, I want to tell her.

“You know,” I say, “Oma told me that at one time she wanted to be a math teacher.” Opa’s handkerchiefs are now stacked in an orderly pile.

Mom stops folding a shirt. “She told you that?”

“You should talk to her. I think there’s a lot you both don’t know about each other.”